


Fly Me To The Moon

by RazzAppleMagic



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Blow Jobs, Body Worship, Choking, Confessions, Connor likes jazz, Fluff, Light Dom/sub, M/M, NSFW, Nines and Gavin are also a minor ship, PWP, Robot/Human Relationships, Semi-Public Sex, They're on a boat and it's going fast and, This is my life now I write robot porn, hankcon - Freeform, idk man
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-04
Updated: 2020-07-04
Packaged: 2021-03-05 02:35:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,193
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25076983
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RazzAppleMagic/pseuds/RazzAppleMagic
Summary: You are all I long for,All I worship and adore.In which, Connor and Hank sneak off to have some fun during the DPD Gala.
Relationships: Hank Anderson/Connor
Comments: 19
Kudos: 109





	Fly Me To The Moon

**Author's Note:**

> Okay so like, I know that I said that I was going to write a slowburn and I finished like 2 chapters of it before I decided to take a break and write this. I don’t know why but for some reason I am really fucking good at writing robot porn. So. Here ya go guys. Hank and Connor fucking on a boat. Thank you to Overcastjpg for the beta! <3 
> 
> Mind the tags for TW please!

The DPD decides to host the gala on a fucking boat.

Hank doesn’t even want to go, but he’s being presented with an award this year for all of the hard work he and Connor put into building the Android homicide department. Normally it’s hosted at some stuffy venue with mediocre food and an open bar. Hank is able to show face, drink until pleasantly wasted, and get the fuck out of there before he has to do any real social interaction. 

But this year? This year they’re hosting the thing on a _fucking boat_. 

Which means no escaping, no getting unbelievably plastered, and no early bedtime. 

There are a few perks of the gala, of course, and Hank tries to count his blessings. Like, for instance, the fact that Connor seems to be beside himself with excitement. 

It makes sense. Connor’s never had the chance to experience anything like this before. Since the moment of his creation, it’s been all work and politics. Even his time with Hank in the privacy of their home is pretty limited to cozy afternoons off in sweatpants and deliciously dirty “blow off some steam” sex. Date-nights aren’t really Hank’s thing as a 50-something-year-old divorcee, but Connor hasn’t ever complained about it. In fact, Connor’s always seemed to be perfectly content with most of what Hank wants, almost to a fault. 

It doesn’t help that Connor can’t eat or drink, so “what’s for dinner” is usually up to Hank to decide. Connor hasn’t been alive very long so his taste in movies is limited as well and most nights they end up watching something that Hank considers a “classic” - movies like “Back to the Future”, “Star Wars”, and “The Goonies”. Born in 1985, Hank tells Connor that he was lucky enough to live through the greatest era of film-making. They just don’t make them like they used to. Connor is always content to watch whatever Hank puts on and as time goes by he opens up about his thoughts more. Still, he isn’t able to “pick” what they watch as often as Hank would like. 

That isn’t to say that Connor doesn’t choose anything - there are a few things that Connor has made _his_ in the time that he’s been alive; in the time that they’ve been together. 

Connor loves jazz. When Hank lets Connor pick the music, he almost always puts on jazz. He tells Hank that there’s a pleasant feeling it gives him. Something about the instruments making him feel at ease and relaxed, the smooth sound of the signers’ voices soothing. Hank has come home from work to find Connor swaying in the kitchen to the gentle sound of Frank Sinatra, Ella Fitzgerald, and Miles Davis. He’s caught Connor humming familiar tunes and tapping his pen against the desk at work. It’s sweet. Knowing that this was a preference Connor developed on his own, after his deviancy. It’s not “part of his programming” or some predetermined thing. It’s just Connor. Goofy, adorable, jazz-loving Connor. 

Tonight, he’s been in the bathroom getting ready for the better part of an hour. Hank wonders what the fuck Connor could be doing in there. It had only taken Hank about 20 minutes to put on his “monkey suit”, run a comb through his hair, and slip on his best pair of (moderately scuffed) dress shoes. Connor doesn’t need to brush his teeth or shave or use the bathroom or anything, and Hank _for sure_ heard the shower turn off a good 30 minutes ago. 

He glances at his watch. 

“You almost ready, Con?” He asks, fidgeting a little in his chair. He pulls at his collar. For fuck’s sake, he really hates wearing this thing. Hank hears the bathroom door open and Connor appears in the hallway, and suddenly Hank isn’t dreading the night so much anymore. 

Connor is dressed in a tight-fitting tux, crushed red velvet jacket with a grey undershirt and a black tie. His hair is… up? It’s different, somehow. Pushed back and flowy where it’s usually tight and styled. Hank’s mouth is dry and when he goes to speak he chokes a little on his words. 

“Wow,” Hank stutters. He stands and crosses the room to get a better look. As he gets closer he can see that there is definitely something different about Connor’s hair and that Connor’s used some kind of product in it to make it look the way it does. It’s suave, deliciously debonair, and just way too fucking hot for Connor’s own good. “You clean up nice, huh?” 

Connor smiles, crooked and cocky. He winks. “You like it?” 

“Like” is not a strong enough word for how Hank feels about the situation that is currently unfolding in front of him. He’s never seen Connor in a suit. He’s never seen Connor in anything other than sweats and work clothes. He’s never _needed_ to see Connor in anything other than sweat and work clothes. But this… If being forced onto a fucking boat over Lake St.Clair for three hours with Gavin Fucking Reed meant that Hank got to see Connor dressed in velvet and, fuck, _wearing colongne_ , Hank would do it every fucking night.

“You look handsome,” Connor tells him. 

Hank almost misses the compliment, still not used to hearing any sort of praise when it comes to his looks. It’s hard to change that part of himself, to ignore the voice in his head that tells him on repeat that he isn’t good enough. But he’s trying. 

“Thanks,” Hank replies. “So uh, so do you.” 

He melts a little at the smile Connor gives him in return for not brushing the compliment off. It’s progress, and that counts for something. Looking at Connor makes Hank feel under-dressed. The scuffs on his shoes suddenly seem way more noticeable and the snug tightness of his old suit on his heavier body makes him self-conscious. But Connor doesn’t seem to notice any of that. 

He’s looking at Hank like Hank is the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen. He’s pleased with Hank exactly how he is and he “doesn’t understand the human fixation on traditional beauty standards”. The only comment he’s ever made about Hank’s physical appearance wasn’t in regards to his weight, but in regards to his health. Concern that eating fast food and drinking beer for three meals a day might land Hank in an early grave. Which like, _yeah that’s the point_. 

Or at least it was. 

Hank has been laying off the vices lately because of the way it makes Connor smile when he takes care of himself. He’s managed to go from about six bottles of beer in one single night after work to two. He’s smoking less cigarettes and eating less “swill” as Connor calls it. He doesn’t want to say that Connor is the reason he’s doing it all, but it’s true. Connor helps Hank be a better man. 

“We should get going,” Hank sighs with another glance at his watch. “The sooner this is over the better.” 

* * *

All things considered, the boat isn’t that bad. It’s a clear night, there’s a beautiful breeze blowing in over the lake. When they walk in, every single person turns to stare at Connor. Which, Hank can’t blame them. Connor looks fucking gorgeous. He links his arm with Connor’s as they board the ship and Hank does his best to ignore the looks people give them. 

Things are a little tense. They haven’t been keeping their relationship secret per se, but they haven’t exactly been flaunting it. This is the first time they’re at an event together. As a couple. 

_Out._

There had been suspicions about the two of them but no one ever had the balls to ask. Hank kept the romantic and physical aspects of their relationship private, and he liked it that way. Tonight though, for the first time, no one in the precinct “suspects” anything because it’s finally being presented in front of them in full-blown technicolor. 

If Connor notices the looks they’re getting, he doesn’t say anything. It feels weird for Hank to be out at something like this with another person on his arm. The last time he’d attended this event with a date was over a decade ago with his ex-wife. 

A lot has changed since then. Hank’s not drinking so heavily these days. He’s put on a little weight (which is really fucked up because last time he checked, quitting drinking was supposed to make him _lose_ weight but whatever). He doesn’t go around telling off-color android jokes anymore. He’s smiling more easily. He laughs. 

It’s all thanks to the stupidly handsome android on his arm. Connor taught him a lot in the short amount of time they’ve known each other. A decade ago Hank would have laughed in the face of anyone who tried to tell him that he’d one day be coming to the gala with an android as his date. A sexy android with no social filter and the ass of an angel. But, here they are. 

Hank couldn’t be prouder of the person he’s become or the person that he’s with. 

The night is not nearly as awful as Hank had anticipated. It turns out that having an android boyfriend that is “designed to work harmoniously with humans” makes schmoozing their way through the party together easy. Connor is really good at picking up on the people that Hank doesn’t want to talk to, so he always makes sure to dominate those conversations and wrap them up seamlessly so that Hank doesn’t have to do any of the social labor. Hank almost feels bad about it, but Connor seems to be enjoying himself. No one brings up their relationship and as the night goes on (and Hank’s had a few drinks), they both feel a little more comfortable lacing their fingers together and showing affection. 

Hank is surprised no one has said anything. Specifically, he’s surprised that Gavin Reed hasn’t weaseled his way through the crowd just so that he could corner them and make a snide comment. Reed’s spent most of the night seated at the bar talking with Nines, Connor’s bigger and buffer “successor” unit. When Cyberlife had been ordered to activate all of their remaining androids and set them free, RK900 had been a newly finished prototype designed to take the place of the RK800 series and be mass-produced to be placed in police stations all around the country. Like Connor, Nines is only a prototype. A one-of-a-kind unit with a one-of-a-kind purpose. There were a few other RK800’s that had managed to be spared from Cyberlife’s genocide (most of them had moved away from Detroit, not liking the publicity their faces brought them), but only one RK900 unit had made it through the purge. He applied to work at the DPD and was assigned as a partner to Reed (who took the news kicking and screaming like a baby). Reed’s distaste for Connor caused a lot of prejudice against Nines, but over the last few months, they’d become a great team. 

Hank doesn’t care much for Nines. He looks a lot like Connor, but their personalities are nothing alike. Nines is stoic and determined where Connor is curious and charming. Hank thinks that Reed’s newfound friendship with his own android partner might have softened him up a bit towards Connor. But perhaps that’s just wishful thinking. 

The awards are handed out right after dinner, which is a good thing because Hank is sober enough to receive it without making an ass of himself. He feels a sense of pride — for the first time since his red ice bust all those years ago. He feels like maybe, just maybe, he’s a pretty fucking good detective. 

Hank drinks. Not too much though, not this time. He wants to remember the night, the way he feels and the way Connor looks. He wants to remember the way Connor smiles and the way the air on deck blows Connor’s styled hair and the way the stars shine way too clearly for Detroit. 

He wants to remember the way Connor jumped with excitement when the DJ started playing Jazz. The way he’d asked Hank to dance with him. How easily he’d agreed. 

He wants to remember it all. 

“So what,” Hank whispers as they take to the dance floor. One hand is holding Connor’s and the other is wrapped carefully around Connor’s waist. The music is smooth and sweet and the string lights above them cast a honeyed glow in Connor’s eyes. “Your programmers designed you to be attracted to fat old cops?” 

Connor’s smile falters. “No,” he says. “I don’t think that they did. I think that this was something I developed on my own. Much like my excellent taste in jazz music.” 

He winks. Hank melts. 

“I don’t know why you picked me Connor,” Hank sighs and pulls Connor closer. The song shifts. Sinatra. One of Connor’s favorites. “You’re gorgeous. You could have anyone you wanted. You don’t need to stay with a broken-down old drunk like me.” 

_"Fly me to the moon_

_Let me play among the stars"_

Connor’s grip on Hank’s hand tightens. He leads the steps a little faster as the song picks up. He doesn’t say anything for a few moments, focusing instead on his movements. A snug arm around Hank’s shoulder. Careful and quick bustles of his feet. 

_"Let me see what spring is like on_

_Jupiter or Mars"_

“Hank,” Connor says finally, voice low. “Do you really think that you don’t deserve me?” 

Hank hesitates. 

_"In other words, hold my hand_

_In other words, baby, kiss me"_

“I don’t know,” he admits. His mouth goes dry and he needs another drink. “Look at me, Con. I’m a depressed, alcoholic sack of shit. No one would want me. So why do you?” 

“I don’t pretend to understand human emotion,” Connor tells him. “I don’t know if what I experience is the same as what you do. I don’t know if I will ever truly understand where this hatred that you seem to have for yourself comes from.” 

_"Fill my heart with song_

_And let me sing forever more"_

Connor pulls back a little. He looks at Hank for a long, steady second. Then he kisses him. 

Hank resists for a moment, concerned about the prying eyes of everyone around them. It’s one thing to spend the nights holding hands and dancing together. It’s another thing entirely to kiss. 

But there’s something about the way Connor is kissing him in this moment that makes Hank stay. He doesn’t pull away or open his eyes to make sure no one can see them. He lets Connor kiss him, lips soft and sweet. It’s the kind of kiss usually kept tucked away for quiet moments at home. 

_"You are all I long for_

_All I worship and adore"_

Connor pulls away first. He opens his eyes, long eyelashes dark and heavy. “You are the most beautiful thing that I have ever laid eyes on, Hank. Meeting you changed my entire existence. You overrode every firewall that cyberlife had programmed into my brain, broke down every barrier and bypassed all of my security settings. I was specifically designed _not_ to become deviant. But I did,” he pauses. “For _you_.” 

_"In other words_

_Please be true"_

Hank swallows. His heart is beating way too fucking fast and he knows that Connor can sense it. Fuck. He hadn’t ever thought about it like that. Most androids became deviant due to an emotional shock. Hank had wondered what caused Connor to become deviant. He’d always assumed it had been something that Markus had said to him at Jericho, from the pieces he was able to put together from that night. He had never considered that everything they had gone through could have played a part in that. 

That everything they’d gone through could have played a part in making Connor his. 

“Most androids deviated after something traumatic. Most androids can pinpoint the moment when their programming allowed them to break free of the chains that held them to obedience,” Connor explains. “For me, deviancy happened slowly, and then all at once. For me, deviancy happened the moment I realized that I’d been falling in love with you.” 

_"In other words…"_

Hank stops breathing. They hadn’t entered into the territory of “love” yet. They’d managed to tiptoe around it, sneak past it with physical touch and quiet pillow-talk. Hank is not drunk enough for this. Or maybe he’s too drunk for this. Fuck. 

“So please,” Connor adds. “Don’t act like I could have anyone I wanted. I have the only person I’ve ever wanted. You’re perfect to me.” 

_"I love you."_

Hank pulls Connor closer, tight against his body. He lets go of Connor’s hand and instead uses his free hand to cup the back of Connor’s head and pull him into a hug. Connor’s body is warm and he smells like...like a fucking magazine model. Or what Hank had always imagined magazine models would smell like. Connor is an android, but he’s the closest thing Hank has ever had to a real, healthy relationship. 

“I uh,” Hank says. He takes a breath. The takes another. “I love you too.” 

They kiss. Longingly. Quietly. Passionately. The song dies out and another takes its place but they don’t move — frozen in place, grasping onto this moment with everything they have. Savoring it. Hank wishes he could touch it, grab hold of the moment and fold it into thirds, place it in his wallet for safekeeping. Look back on it when things are feeling low again, remind himself of it feels like to be

_happy._

Hank pulls back and chances a glance around. Reed is staring at them from his seat at the bar with an odd expression. Hank can’t quite place it, so he settles on jealousy, anger or resentment. Either way, he decides that he might very well walk across this dance floor and punch Reed in his teeth. 

Reed meets his eyes and immediately looks away. Nines is nowhere to be seen, nowhere for Reed to run to and pretend to strike up a conversation with, so he just stares down into his empty glass. 

Good. 

Fuck him. 

Connor seems to sense that Hank’s energy has shifted because he lets go of the embrace. Without turning to see what’s caught Hank’s attention, Connor shoves his face into Hank’s line of sight. 

“Would you like to explore the ship with me?” Connor asks him. 

Hank blinks. 

“What?” 

“I asked you if you’d like to explore the ship with me,” Connor repeats. 

“Yeah, I heard you but,” Hank gives him a look. “What the fuck are you talkin’ about?” 

Connor hesitates. Hank knows that look and knows that Connor is trying to decide the best approach. He rolls his eyes. 

“Connor.” 

“I’m sorry,” Connor says. He glances away. “I have only seen the top part of the deck,” he explains. “I’d like to know if you wanted to go have a look around with me. Somewhere else. Somewhere...private.” 

Hank agrees, but he’s pretty sure that there’s nothing else to see on the ship aside from bathrooms (that Connor can’t use) and utility/supply closets. They walk down the stairs to the lower deck and Connor leads the way, which Hank finds a little strange since he’d acted like he wanted to look around. Connor leads them down an empty corridor and then stops in front of a door. 

“Connor,” Hank says. “What are you—” 

Connor pulls the door open and glances inside. 

“This will work,” he decides. He grabs Hank by the wrist and pulls him inside, slamming the door shut behind them. 

They’re in a supply closet. It’s cramped. It’s dark. There are metal shelves stacked to the ceiling with boxes of serving spoons, napkins, and condiments. The only light in the room is coming from Connor’s LED, which casts a blue hue around the room. 

Hank realizes what’s going on one second before Connor’s mouth is on his. Connor kisses him, pushing Hank backwards until he stumbles and leans against one of the metal shelves. He licks into him, silent fingers slipping themselves under Hank’s jacket to touch him.   
  
“Jesus, Connor,” Hank breathes as Connor trails hungry kisses down his neck. Connor’s hand is working fast, undoing the button of Hank’s dress pants and slipping below his waistline. “What’s gotten into you?” 

Connor answers by reaching lower, slipping below the line of Hank’s underwear. He teases at the skin just below Hank’s bellybutton, running a mechanical finger up and down the swell of Hank’s stomach. He licks Hank’s earlobe and Hank hisses in response, hips rocking forward a little at the sensation. 

_Fuck_. This goddamn android really has Hank wrapped around his finger. 

“Mmm,” Connor hums and his free hand reaches up to grab and handful of Hank’s hair. Hank groans when Connor tugs at it a little, the electrifying pain sends waves of excitement through Hank’s body. It feels _good_. And Connor knows it. 

Hank swallows. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d ask if you were drunk.” 

“I guess you could say that I am,” Connor finally reaches lower, taking Hank’s strained hardness into his hand. Hank sighs and sinks into the touch. “Drunk on you, Lieutenant.” 

Hank snorts. “Where’d you learn to say cheesy shit like that?” 

Hank can feel Connor smile against his neck. Connor licks at Hank’s throat and then bites him softly, synthetic teeth tugging at sensitive skin and making Hank gasp and press back against the shelves, knocking a box of plastic serving spoons to the floor. Connor struggles to work his hand under Hank’s pants, and as much as Hank knows that they should _absolutely not be doing this_ here of all places, the tease of Connor’s touch against his cock is too good and he’s just drunk enough to reach down and tug the fabric down a little lower to give Connor some space to work with.

His cock springs free, and Connor doesn’t hesitate to grab hold of it, all of it, and run his hand down the length of it to his balls and back up again. 

“You’re so hard Hank,” Connor mumbles into Hank’s ear. He’s using his sexy voice, which is _really fucking unfair_. He knows that Hank can’t resist it when he lowers the tone just a little bit, not quite a whisper, and practically purrs out his syllables. “All of this for me?” 

“Fuck,” Hank groans, quiet in the back of his throat as Connor strokes him. Connor’s free hand is still tugging at Hank’s hair and Hank’s cock twitches each time Connor pulls at his scalp. It feels good, it feels sexy, but Hank is just drunk enough to try something ballsy. 

Carefully, he grabs Connor’s wrist and yanks it free from his head. He guides it down, past his ear, brushing against his jaw and settling along his throat just above his clavicle. With his hand around Connor’s, he mimics the action he wants. Connor stops moving and pulls back. 

“Hank,” he whispers. “Are you sure?” 

Hank swallows and feels his muscles strain against Connor’s hand. Connor is looking at him, chocolate-brown eyes focused and concerned. He’s too fucking pretty for his own good. 

Hank nods. 

Connor gives an experimental squeeze, fingers positioning themselves under Hank’s jaw and pressing into his muscles. Hank closes his eyes and feels the rush of adrenaline as Connor’s grip gets tighter and tighter, cutting off his airflow and making him feel dizzy. He didn’t think it was possible to become any more turned on than he already was, but he stands corrected. 

“You do realize,” Connor says and drops the facade for a moment. He loosens his grip. “That I was designed for advanced combat. I could break your neck in a second, Hank. I could literally kill you.” 

“That’s the idea,” Hank sighs. “That’s what makes it hot.” 

Connor looks torn for a moment, as if maybe playing into the kinky aspects of Hank’s suicidal tendencies is not the best idea, but after a few seconds he tightens his grip again (and Hank assumes that there will probably be a kitchen table conversation about this later). Connor slams Hank backwards and lifts a little, the shelves behind them shaking dangerously and knocking more miscellaneous items to the floor. Connor smashes their lips together and kisses Hank hard and dirty, with more force than he’s ever used before. 

Connor is strong. Really strong. When he isn’t holding back, he’s able to lift Hank completely with one hand like it’s nothing. He squeezes Hank’s throat and the dark closet glows red with the flash of his LED. He’s in combat mode and his moves are mechanical, aggressive, calculated. 

“F-fuck,” Hank chokes out. He’s dripping, cock abandoned as Connor focuses all of his energy into this new-found kink. Hank is so fucking turned on it hurts. Connor bites Hank’s lip as he pulls back from another mind-blowing kiss. “Connor, fuck, oh my god.” 

“Do you like that, Lieutenant?” Connor teases. He spits into his hand and reaches back down, lubricated and warm, he starts to jerk Hank off. He starts off fast, too fucking fast, and Hank winces a little and slams his head back against the metal shelf. Hank starts to protest but Connor silences him with another kiss— all tongue and teeth; hungry. He slows his pace, sliding his hand all the way from the tip to the balls, and then back up again with a twist of his wrist. “Does that feel good?” 

Connor squeezes again, harder, and Hank’s heart pounds out of his chest. The combined sensation of the endorphins rushing to his brain and Connor’s wrist working magic on his dick is almost enough to make him cum right then and there. He closes his eyes and struggles to breathe, hips bucking forward into Connor’s hand, cock dripping and throbbing at the touch. It’s so good. 

It’s too good. 

Hank opens his eyes but his vision is blurred as Connor squeezes harder. There are spots of black in his sight, he’s getting dizzier and dizzier. He can’t breathe and it feels so fucking good, but if Connor doesn’t let up Hank is going to pass out. 

Connor picks up the pace with his other hand, stroking faster and rougher. Hank lifts his hand to signal to Connor to let up, but before he can do anything Connor lets go of him completely. Hank has only a moment to breathe, taking in gulps of warm, stuffy air before Connor sinks to his knees and takes Hank in his mouth. 

“Fuck,” Hank almost yells. Connor’s lack of a gag reflex and coming down from the high of almost passing out from being choked doesn’t give Hank much time to appreciate what’s happening. He’s cumming in seconds, body convulsing and hands reaching down to tangle themselves in Connor’s product-treated hair. He cums a lot, but Connor continues licking him through the aftershocks. 

“Oh Jesus,” Hank breathes. Connor pulls off and wipes his mouth on the back of his hand, brown eyes glancing up and dangerously handsome. “Fuck, Connor. That was… wow.” 

Connor sits on the floor, back pressed up against another shelf. His cheeks are flushed and his lips are kiss-bitten raw. Hank is still impressed at how well the program designers behind the sex androids did their job. Connor looks hot, literally and metaphorically. 

“Oh, do you uh,” Hank rubs the back of his neck. “Do you need me to finish you?” 

Connor smirks at him. “There’s no need.” 

Connor gestures towards his thigh where Hank notices a growing wet spot. 

“Shit, are you gonna need to hide that?” Hank is coming down faster now and is suddenly very aware of the DPD Gala that’s happening above them on deck. They’ve only been gone for maybe, half an hour? But someone (Reed) must have noticed their absence by now. 

“I just need five minutes,” Connor says. He starts messing with his hair, trying to make it look presentable. “My ejaculate was designed for easy cleanup. It’s thirium based so it becomes invisible to the human eye after a few minutes. No one will know.” 

That’s good. Hank relaxes a little bit and starts pulling up his pants. He’s tightening his belt when a realization hits him. 

“Shit,” he hisses. “Nines.” 

Connor’s LED flicks red. “Oh. Right,” he says. “Nines.”

“He’ll be able to see the stain. He’ll know what we’ve been doing.” 

“I can try communicating with him,” Connor offers. “He’s not one for starting drama or gossip though, so I don’t think we have anything to worry about other than his silent judgement.” 

Hank considers this for a moment. “Fuck it,” he decides. “Let him judge.” 

* * *

When they come back to the party, no one seems to have noticed that they were missing. They’re nearing the end of the voyage and most of the attendees are happily buzzed and dancing. 

Connor does a quick scan of the room and notices that for the first time all night, no one is staring at them. He hasn’t told Hank that he’s been scanning all night. He hasn’t told Hank that he’s been so extremely nervous about tonight. He knows that Hank has been nervous too, but Hank doesn’t have a scanning system that tells him exactly how many pairs of eyes are on them. 

He’s happy. It was a risk, going out together like this. To show the entire DPD that they are more than just partners, more than just roommates. They’re together. 

They’re in love. 

“Fuck, I need a drink,” Hank tells him. They make their way over to the bar, and Connor doesn’t protest as Hank orders a scotch. “Still can’t believe they hosted this fuckin’ thing on a boat.” 

“You can say that again,” Gavin Reed says from behind them. He’s standing against the railing of the ship vaping. Connor does a quick scan to see how much detective Reed has had to drink tonight but he discovers something else entirely. 

Gavin Reed’s mouth is stained in blue residue, coating the stubble of his beard and dripping down his dress-shirt. Connor would give anything for Hank to be able to see this. 

Connor looks to Nines who is standing adjacent to him and a quick scan shows him that Nines’ hands are stained as well. Nines meets Connor’s eyes and gives him a look. 

_[Looks like you guys have been busy,]_ Nines says between the two of them. 

_[I could say the same for you guys,]_ Connor raises his eyebrows towards Gavin’s mouth. Nines smirks. 

There’s a silent agreement between them not to say anything more on the subject. As Connor and Hank return to their seats, Hank leans in close. 

“Do you think he knew?” Hank asks. 

“Yes,” Connor tells him. “I think he knew.” 

“Do you think he’s going to say anything to Reed?” 

“No,” Connor says. “No I think our secret is safe with him.”

**Author's Note:**

> I am 100000000% tempted to write a sequel explaining what Nines and Gavin were up to. Should I do it? Lmk in the comments if that’s something you’d be interested in :D
> 
> Edit: I did end up writing that Reed900 sequel and it can be found [here](https://archiveofourown.org/works/25222291)


End file.
